Looking for help of any sort.
On Not Looking for Happiness
I sweep a floor, wash dishes, divide hostas
while smiling about my round world rolling,
breezes blowing, sun shining.
Paradise grows in my mind.
There, I follow children like Pied Pipers
prancing, dancing, laughing their way
along rivers, up hills.
A fine day to let my mind play.
Seasons come and go. I let them pass
like a five-year-old, trusting they
will come again.
What saint would not approve?
When I find you in pain,
I touch an arm and gaze into eyes,
imaging them as stars. They brighten.
My happiness, almost more than I can bear.
On Not Looking for Happiness
I sweep a floor, wash dishes, divide hostas
while smiling about my round world rolling,
breezes blowing, sun shining.
Paradise grows in my mind.
There, I follow children like Pied Pipers
prancing, dancing, laughing their way
along rivers, up hills.
A fine day to let my mind play.
Seasons come and go. I let them pass
like a five-year-old, trusting they
will come again.
What saint would not approve?
When I find you in pain,
I touch an arm and gaze into eyes,
imaging them as stars. They brighten.
My happiness, almost more than I can bear.